brighter.
Also, I realized something that a few others seemed to realize just then—the Turkish people were really grateful that we were there doing what we are doing. I had had apprehensions about the Turks because of the initial unrest when NATO forces began arriving, but those soon evaporated.
We were settling into our new quarters. Everything seemed promising. It’s surprising how much the new quarters had changed people’s attitudes. There was renewed excitement even among the habitual mopers. I was confident that in a few days, everyone would have forgotten the PME except me. I wanted to remember it, so I could truly know how fortunate we all were when we finally got to go home.
I was supposed to start mission planning cell the next day, so Monday’s morning flight should be my last for at least eight days. I could really use the break; twelve-hour days and a set routine would seem a breeze compared to flying a mission in the combat zone and ever changing schedules. Yet I wasn’t sure things would be the same if I were not flying.
I’ve saved the best news for last. Late Sunday night I finally got a chance to talk to Katie. She sounded worried and sweet. The phone call went much better than last time. And yes, I told her I loved her several times.
She told me she sent me a Valentine’s day surprise. I felt bad; I’d forgotten all about Valentine’s day. I looked at the Base Exchange for a card, but they were all sold out. So I made a valentine of my own—a hundred hand-drawn hearts and then a hundred more—I hoped Katie would get it by Thursday.
Katie’s picture sat on the nightstand beside my bed. In it she was wearing a ruffled red dress pulled loosely about the shoulders. I had taken that picture on Christmas eve.
I had gotten another voice tape from her a few days previously. I now had four. I’d grown accustomed to putting on headphones and going to sleep to the sound of her voice. She always mixed in a few of our favorite songs and she would sing the words in the background—she has such a beautiful voice.
Katie told me that she had called my mother. I still hadn’t told Mom I was in the Gulf. Mom took the news hard. She and Katie talked for more than an hour.
Mom said she had known something was wrong when I called the night before the war, but she hadn’t known what. Katie gave her my address, and she said she would write.
I’m not sure why I hadn’t written her yet. I suppose it was because I didn’t want her to worry. I had tried to start a letter several times. It was just that nothing sounded right. And mom isn’t the sort of person who takes this kind of news easily.
Tuesday, 12 February 1991
Monday’s early morning Go went well, and I was home by early afternoon. I was supposed to start MPC on Tuesday; but as they hadn’t pulled me yet, I would be flying again today. Tennessee Jim asked if I’d mind flying again. I told him straight up, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Since the gym was so close, I no longer had an excuse to skip workouts. After almost four weeks without hitting the weights, I felt like Silly Putty. I was sore as hell, and every inch of my body ached. But I determined to go again the next day without giving the pain a second thought. I’m no monster, but as I gradually worked my way up to 275 on the bench, I felt good! When you can’t have sex, you might as well hit the weights; you have to vent aggression somewhere, and a good workout takes my mind off other things.
I was pleased when the day’s flight went smoothly as well. The Gray Lady touched down just as dusk covered the Turkish landscape. As I and ten other tired souls piled out the crew entrance door, a westerly wind was blowing strong across the runway and as it raced to the mountains across the flat land it took with it what remained of the
Also, I realized something that a few others seemed to realize just then—the Turkish people were really grateful that we were there doing what we are doing. I had had apprehensions about the Turks because of the initial unrest when NATO forces began arriving, but those soon evaporated.
We were settling into our new quarters. Everything seemed promising. It’s surprising how much the new quarters had changed people’s attitudes. There was renewed excitement even among the habitual mopers. I was confident that in a few days, everyone would have forgotten the PME except me. I wanted to remember it, so I could truly know how fortunate we all were when we finally got to go home.
I was supposed to start mission planning cell the next day, so Monday’s morning flight should be my last for at least eight days. I could really use the break; twelve-hour days and a set routine would seem a breeze compared to flying a mission in the combat zone and ever changing schedules. Yet I wasn’t sure things would be the same if I were not flying.
I’ve saved the best news for last. Late Sunday night I finally got a chance to talk to Katie. She sounded worried and sweet. The phone call went much better than last time. And yes, I told her I loved her several times.
She told me she sent me a Valentine’s day surprise. I felt bad; I’d forgotten all about Valentine’s day. I looked at the Base Exchange for a card, but they were all sold out. So I made a valentine of my own—a hundred hand-drawn hearts and then a hundred more—I hoped Katie would get it by Thursday.
Katie’s picture sat on the nightstand beside my bed. In it she was wearing a ruffled red dress pulled loosely about the shoulders. I had taken that picture on Christmas eve.
I had gotten another voice tape from her a few days previously. I now had four. I’d grown accustomed to putting on headphones and going to sleep to the sound of her voice. She always mixed in a few of our favorite songs and she would sing the words in the background—she has such a beautiful voice.
Katie told me that she had called my mother. I still hadn’t told Mom I was in the Gulf. Mom took the news hard. She and Katie talked for more than an hour.
Mom said she had known something was wrong when I called the night before the war, but she hadn’t known what. Katie gave her my address, and she said she would write.
I’m not sure why I hadn’t written her yet. I suppose it was because I didn’t want her to worry. I had tried to start a letter several times. It was just that nothing sounded right. And mom isn’t the sort of person who takes this kind of news easily.
Tuesday, 12 February 1991
Monday’s early morning Go went well, and I was home by early afternoon. I was supposed to start MPC on Tuesday; but as they hadn’t pulled me yet, I would be flying again today. Tennessee Jim asked if I’d mind flying again. I told him straight up, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”
Since the gym was so close, I no longer had an excuse to skip workouts. After almost four weeks without hitting the weights, I felt like Silly Putty. I was sore as hell, and every inch of my body ached. But I determined to go again the next day without giving the pain a second thought. I’m no monster, but as I gradually worked my way up to 275 on the bench, I felt good! When you can’t have sex, you might as well hit the weights; you have to vent aggression somewhere, and a good workout takes my mind off other things.
I was pleased when the day’s flight went smoothly as well. The Gray Lady touched down just as dusk covered the Turkish landscape. As I and ten other tired souls piled out the crew entrance door, a westerly wind was blowing strong across the runway and as it raced to the mountains across the flat land it took with it what remained of the
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